Sherlock Fandom - Tumblr Posts

girls be shamelessly writing johnlock fanfiction in the year of our lord 2023 (im girls👍)

I used to love BBC Sherlock so fucking much when I was like fourteen or something and it kinda got me into the Sherlock Holmes universe so when I watched the finale I was actually legitimately overjoyed because omigod fucking god they're living together no wives or girlfriends and raising a baby together and the whole finale was about Sherlock rescuing John. I thought everyone perceived it as canon Johnlock but then I found out how violently homophobic the actors and everyone involved in the production of the show were post finale. And how derisive the straight fans were, it was a specific brand of potent hostility I'd never encountered before up until then and have never seen since in such intensity. The thing is I still maintain bbc johnlock was not even queerbait, it was just textbook gaslighting at that point. They made a pair canonically queer then called us every name under the sun for seeing that it was queer. Anyway that was just one facet of it that made the show age badly to me.

I also hate shows with a white male protagonist who uses his " neurodivergent genius intellect" as an excuse to be an absolutely garbage person, because it attracts a specific kind of male demographic that try to emulate this condescend whilst completely missing the irony of the purposeful character flaw.

Despite everything I did love that show with my whole heart as a kid, and I missed it so much, I loved Andrew Scott's camp as fuck Moriarty, Lara Pulvers Irene made me go wELL fuCk If I wasn't Gay BeFoRe. But after everything that particular adaptation has perhaps permanently soured for me. I hoped one day I could go back to it without wincing at the scene where John hits Sherlock because he blames him for Mary's death because I read some sort of meta internalised homophobia into it. But I realised even though I'm grateful to bbc johnlock for making me fall in love with the ship it's just an adaptation. There's millions of better ones out there, bbc doesn't have be an end all be all and I've also only read one acd canon book. So not all is lost and maybe I will go back to Johnlock just not through that door.

This is a painting?!?!?!

I scrolled past this thinking it was a picture of Benedict, this is so damn good!

Digital painting of Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock!

Yesterday on April 2 saw

The Scarlet Claw (1944) Sherlock Holmes played by Basil Rathbone

There were funny parts so thought to edit it hehe

-

Non-Copyright Track by

Amazing Plan - Silent Film Dark by Kevin MacLeod

I love your blog sm. your writing give me life <3

How about William moriarty x fem! reader after the final problem meeting again, except she was pregnant with his son and he didn’t know before he tried to unalive himself?

Have a lovely day!!

Notes: aww thank you so much anon, you're making me blush! 😭💙

Ohh this one is really intriguing, let's see what can i do!

have a lovely day too anon!!<3

TW/CONTENT: Mention of suicide,angst??,probably even a bit of dark content,sfw, fluff at the end, thoughts+scenario

Soo, I'm going to be brief because I know this part usually bores a lot of people, don't worry-

Basically I think the situation would be very tense. But really, really, really tense.

Both you and William have your faults. Yours is not to have warned him of your pregnancy,instead, his was in itself the extreme act of patriotism.

He’s gonna think about how you might be mad at him after not telling you something so important. Not to mention how he thought you wouldn’t trust him anymore, leave him and forget about him.

While you, apart from the happiness of seeing him still alive and the desire to embrace him, you are afraid of his reaction to pregnancy. You were afraid that he might refuse to be a father, that he would refuse to have a family with you, and that maybe he would also deny knowing you and the baby once he/she was born.

Probably as soon as you two meet there will be a long and harrowing moment of silence. One way or another, however, you will start a conversation that will definitely change your lives.

╰┈➤ scenario: 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?

You walked slowly into the room where William and Sherlock were 'hospitalized'. You were very happy that your beloved was alive, he was injured, but fortunately he will recover. As soon as you entered the room you noticed that the tents were closed, blocking the rays of the sun of a late autumn afternoon.

"Are they sleeping?" You wondered between you and yourself as you approached towards the two beds.

Their injuries were quite severe. You gave a quick look to both of them before pausing to look at William. After your sight got used to the darkness of the room You could see the blond well, your heart lost a beat and your eyes widened.

You sat at the edge of William’s bed,your hand caressed his cheek.

"my my, what have you done to yourself Will.." you whispered as you saw the bloody eye patch still on your eye.

You bent over to kiss his forehead as you heard noises coming from the other bed.

"Oh Sherlock, you’re awake."

"Good morning to you too Y/N"

His sarcastic response was nothing new.

You snorted while you looked back at William. You caressed your belly as you felt sensations that remember you every day you were pregnant.

"When will you tell him?"

"i-i..i don't know"

"You can't run from your problems forever, you know that?"

"i know,i know...but,what if he doesn't want to be a father?..what if.. he doesn't want to be the father of my kid.."

"Oh c'mon now, you're talking with no sense! We both know Liam, we know he would never leave you or his future kid alone"

"shh! if william wakes up he will hear us!"

"Fine.."

Sherlock set up, grabbed his jacket and walked out of the room.

"Where are you going?"

"I’m going to see Watson, there’s an interesting new case I want to investigate."

"you’re still the same, Sherlock"

"Forever and always"

He closed the door with a big smile on his face.

You snorted again,thinking about how this man acts without thinking about his health.

While you were in your thoughts you did not notice that the boy who was sleeping by your side was slowly waking up.

"Mhh.. Good morning my dear"

You almost jumped from the fright.

"O-Oh, good morning Will..Did i wake you up?"

"No,don't worry...Actually It was Sherly talking out loud that woke me up a bit"

"So you heard us?.."

"Not really, i was still half-asleep. Why?"

"it's nothing! There's nothing to worry about! You're safe,i'm good, Your brothers are fine, nothing's wrong! hehe.."

Your nervous laugh betrayed you.

William got up a bit from bed just to sit and lean his back to the back of the bed

"Darling,why are you lying to me..?"

At that moment your heart has stopped for a moment, what can you answer him? You had no idea

"Did i do something wrong?"

Yes,you tried to unlive your self.....

"You have to tell me something important, isn't it?"

Yes,im pregnant and you're the father,i'm so sorry....

"Y/N,Darling..."

.......

"Y/N look at me"

William stroked your cheek and forced you to look at him. You were in tears, so this is how it all ends? Is this the end? He will not want to see you again after you tell him?

"I'm pregnant, and you're the father"

"..W-what? Can you repeat it,please?"

"I-I'm pregnant, and you're the father.."

Your eyes were closed because of the tears but you could notice that William was surprised by his tone of voice.

"Why didn’t you tell me before?"

You could not hide behind any lie anymore

"I' so, so, so sorry! Please don't leave me, don't hate me, please"

please,please,please,please,please i'm sorry

"Oh my-..Dear,why would you be sorry?"

"Because you're angry at me.."

"How can i be mad if right now i'm the happiest men in London?"

Your tears stopped

"Wha-"

He kissed you,It was a sweet and tender kiss but that contained all the affection and certainties you needed.

"My sweet angel,please Don’t think too much. In fact, thank you for letting me live a moment of pure happiness. I love you so much, I swear I will be a great father and an excellent husband"

That's it! i hope you liked this!💙

𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙/𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙! 𝙊𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜&lt;3

Wanna read more William content?? Got ya! dating hc's for william and sherlock

-Cheri Cheri lipstick

Sherlock Holmes once again got called for a new case,an new affair of murder in manors where the corpses where leff with an eerie distinct signature ; a crimson red lipstick mark on the victim's corpses,sometimes on their lips,neck,forehead or cheeks,all victimes were particulary targeted to rich business men and beautifu young women,maybe the muderer seeked revenge ?

As the victimes muderer acumulated,Holmes searched through the potential witnesses,as he interviewed them,they all talked about an elegant widow woman 'She was a happily married woman before she discovered her husband affaires with other young women'

'Her husband name was 'Jules Jenkins',one the victims found dead,they also said how they never seen her so devasteted about about learning about her husband's affairswith other women,the widow was named 'Isabella',his instincts told him he was close to discovering who is that murderer

Sherlock intended to start the pursuit of this mysterious woman,she carried such a mystery that Sherlock Holmes wanted to discover,he found the woman in her manor,

Infact she wore the same crimson lipstick,he interviewed the lady,visibly anxious at his encounter ,he then mentioned that her lipstick was exactly the same shade of the one in the murder scene,he then asked her if she knew a certain 'Jules Jenkins' for a second the woman face froze but she quickly shaked her head in a no, seeing the woman was about to deny Sherlock than asked about her husband's name,that the witnesses he interviewed told that she was married to that man,that the lipstick he found on her and found the tube was the same exact shade

Holmes quickly saw the woman furiously sweating and shaking ,she then fall to her kness,breaking down crying 'YES I KILLED ALL OF THEM' ,she gulped trying to calm down her voice filled with venom 'i did it because i saw how my husband cheated on me,i was disgusted by these pride filled maniacs who think they own the world,and these women who thinks all they derseves all that male attention' she shaked in rage at she was speaking,she felt her world collapse into knowing she certainly go to prison,Sherlock Holmes was staring at her with cold emotionless eyes as he proceded to her arrestation,

The day of her judgement came and she was recognized culprit to these murders,her eyes bawling out at the judgement crying desperatly,she finally got back all the sadnesses and rage the famillies have felt and how she wasted those lives,wasted

-THE END

It comes to a point where you just have to ask yourself if the BBC Sherlock writers even read the canon. ACD wrote some incredible works, works that are still constantly being adapted. And what we see in every work is this intense relationship between Sherlock and John. What the writers of BBC have failed to do is read and understand this. What they’re saying is that “Sherlock and John cannot be gay, they don’t have sex with each other, ew!!” Instead of “they’re possibly queer, leaning more on the with Sherlock leaning more on the aroace spectrum, and John leaning more towards women, they would be more of a QPR!” Because they didn’t take the time to understand the complexities of this relationship written at a time where a story of two openly gay men would be wrong. I don’t see them as a QPR, I see them as a romantic couple, but to fight so hard against that, I can only imagine Holmes and Watson as a QPR because there is NO WAY you’re going to look at me, and look at any story they’re in, and tell me “they’re just friends”.

Martin Freeman and Moffat about Johnlock

“Martin Freeman says he’s worried people will think he’s homophobic – because he insists that Sherlock and Dr Watson are not gay.

The actor appears opposite Benedict Cumberbatch in BBC drama series Sherlock, which has long teased fans with hints of romance between the pair.                                                                                        

However, John Watson is now expecting a child with his wife on the show, and Freeman says it’s time for people to accept that the romance just isn’t going to happen.

He told The Sun newspaper: “They’re not actually f***ing. It is possible for people of the same sex to have a deep friendship without being attracted to each other.                                                                            

“People are attracted to each other in all sorts of ways. You don’t necessarily want to [sleep with] someone because you love them. They respect each other, they bring different things to their friendship.”

He added that he did not want to be interpreted as homophobic by shooting down the rampant online backing for the theory – with some hardcore ‘Johnlock’ fans resorting to fanfiction and erotic art.

He said: “It’s a friendship. Way more has been made in the ether of that relationship than has ever been put in the show.                                                                                                        

“The trouble is as soon as you start getting into a dialogue about that, it sounds like you‘re somehow being homophobic.” His comments back up those of the show’s creator Steven Moffat.

Moffat insisted recently: “We walk into that one all the time. It’s a funny thing when a character for over 100 years has been saying, ‘I don’t do that at all.’ He’s been saying it over 100 years! He’s not interested in [sex]. He’s willfully staying away from that to keep his brain pure—a Victorian belief, that. But everyone wants to believe he’s gay. “He’s not gay. He’s not straight. And Doctor Watson is very clear that he prefers women. People want to fantasize about it. It’s fine. But it’s not in the show.”

However, Moffat has previously teased that a scene set in a gay club was cut out of the series due to time constraints.”

Quelle: http://www.pinknews.co.uk/2015/09/26/martin-freeman-insists-sherlock-and-dr-watson-arent-fking/

Matilda May - Introduction

"They say blood is thicker than water but, maple syrup is thicker than blood. Therefore my loyalties lie with pancakes."

January 23rd, 2012. Matilda "Zephyr" May (LNU) is quite the unusual child. Her keen mind and incredible foresight, aid her inquisitive nature. Zephyr's had a...problematic life, one that's left numerous scars. However her life is changed forever when she's adopted by Dr. John Watson and Mary Morstan. Her somewhat reserved but cynical judgment of others reminds John of his former partner. As Zephyr's new parents bond with their daughter, they realize much of the child's history is steeped in mystery. She's a curious case.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from BBC Sherlock (2010) only Matilda and other oc's.

Rated T - for murder.

Prologue

Title: Prologue

Word count: 1,586

Characters: John Watson and Matilda May

Warnings: Hints of abuse, unedited.

Notes: So here’s the prologue of my Sherlock story. It’s shorter compared to the next chapter I’m currently working on. If there are any triggers please tell me so I can add them to the tags. I haven’t edited it yet so take all typos and grammar mistakes with a grain of salt.

———

The waiting room was nothing like she'd imagined it being. It was small and crowded. Crowded with sick adults and sick children. It appeared each and every seat was filled by someone. Not everyone was sick but they were clearly afflicted with some sort of ailment or issue, very few appeared to only be in for a casual check up. Every now and then a nurse would come call out a name and off the patient in question went. They'd disappear behind the plain painted blue doors.

At least the waiting room had some form of entertainment for the young children. A small flat screen hanging from the wall about the children's area. She'd seen it on her way in, mutedly broadcasting Peppa Pig, that hadn't interested her in the slightest. Instead she focused her attention on the floor, head down trying to bring as little attention to herself as she possibly could.

She didn't dare touch the toys. Not only were they colourfully decorated breeding grounds for germs, they weren't hers. And she'd been rigorously taught, never touch what doesn't belong to you.

So she sat. Sat amongst the grownups in the room. Her neighbour seated to her right a complete stranger seated to her left.

A sharp acidic smell burned her nostrils. An unmistakable mixture of both cheap booze and classless cigarettes. She had a hunch the foul smelling stranger beside her engaged in the distasteful hobbies as her father.

She wanted to look, to just sneak a peek at the person beside her, but again that was something she knew better than to do. So she kept her eyes, those deep, earthy brown orbs, trained on her old trainers. They were so worn, her big toe was pushing its way through her right toe cap.

All she could do was sit and listen to the gentle repetitive tune of the wait rum music. It's soft rhythmic hum provided some comfort. It was enough to relax the poor girl's tense muscles. She didn't want to be there. She couldn't be there. But there she was and she felt utterly sick.

It was her well to do neighbour who'd made the appointment. The young woman claimed she wanted to ease some of the weight off the girl's busy father's shoulders. The child had had questions but thought it better not to ask them. She should have been more bold. Then perhaps she wouldn't be there.

Her neighbour, Cartia Hennigan, was a lovely young woman approaching her early thirties. She often meant well but had a tendency to overstep her bounds. Nonetheless, the little girl couldn't help but feel pity for the woman. Cartia, all her kindness and charity was nothing more than a façade, covering her great loneliness.

The little girl twiddles her thumbs, replaying the unfortunate event that landed her little butt in the stiff plastic chair. I have to be less of myself, she swore, this never would have happened if I had.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Her forehead throbbed, as if her brain was protesting. Her rational analysis was fighting against her self blame. She massaged her temple with her left index and middle fingers, pressing her right arm tightly against her stomach. It didn't help.

She sat straight, mimicking the posture of a proud queen, eyes still shut, she placed her palms on her knees gripping the fabric of her pant leg. In times of great distress she often found it best to disappear. Unfortunately, unlike the deep sea pelagic octopod she couldn't actually become invisible. She could retreat to the quiet sanctity of her own mind.

Some people retreat to what they call a "happy place". Her? Well... At least she had some place all her own, where the world would slowly fade away.

"Matilda Hennigan.”

Her little head flew up, eyes snapping to the kindly nurse standing in the door separating the waiting room from the rest of the clinic.

Her eyes darted to Cartia who was already standing, walking toward the blue, aluminum trim door. Her eyes widened, pupils anxiously constricting, she quickly pushed herself out of her seat then hurriedly followed after her neighbor.

When she finally reached the door she cast one more nervous glance up at her neighbor. "Shall we?" the nurse smiles warmly and holds the door open wider for the two to enter.

JWJWJW

Matilda sat on at the practice table hands folded like so, neatly rested on her lap. She had to admit this wasn't going as terrible as she'd originally envisioned it going. From what her father had told her, the doctors clinic was an utterly awful place reserved for terrible, no good people. And Matilda was certain she wasn't a terrible person. Or at least she tried not to be.

Her dad mustn't have done his research or had to have been thinking of another clinic. This one was adequate.

The nurse was nice enough. Mary? Yes, that was her name.

She was kind, she made the tedious tests Matilda was forced to endure more bearable. She'd commented on how cute Matilda purple pink polka dotted leggings were. And even promised the little girl a lollipop before she left.

Mary did however seem suspicious when Cartia explained the reason for her bringing Matilda to the clinic in the first place. Matilda wasn't sure why, maybe the explanation sounded weird. It was rather silly. She shouldn't have been playing so close to the stairs.

Matilda tried not to vocalise her disappointment when Mary left to retrieve the doctor, but failed accidentally letting slip a small puppy like whimper. It was unintentional and it bothered her.

Now she sat in the room, not quite alone, with her neighbour. Matilda hated the dressing gown. It left her exposed, back half vulnerable and visible.

At the very least if she moved in front of the mirror she could count how many freckles dotted her skin back there. Maybe like her forehead, nose, and cheeks they formed shapes in a connect the dots kind of way.

Matilda pushes herself up and jumps to the floor. Pain sliced upward like a swift blade through her left ankle. This unbalanced her making her landing less than perfect she ignored the feeling knowing the pain would subside momentarily. Then under the critically watchful eyes of Cartia, she pressed forward across the room toward the only thing that interested her. At least now that Mary was gone.

It was like most things in the public clinic, cheap, only standing about two Tildas tall. Matilda, standing a little less than an arms length away from the mirror, extended an arm gently resting her hand on the smooth reflective glass. It felt cool, good against her skin.

She stared at her reflection, eyes narrowing. She angled her body to one side. She didn't get why both Cartia and Mary seemed worried. She thought she looked fine.

Two rich brown eyes sparkled back at her - the colour of the earth after long torrential rains. Freckles dotted her face, like a chaotic mess of chipped marble. Matilda loved her freckles. A tumble of stringy blonde hair, with dark brown roots, messily pulled back into a low lopsided pony-tail hung between her shoulder blades. Yeah she looked fine.

Hold on. Matilda rolled her tongue across her cheek. There was a jagged cut that'd scabbed over on the right side of her temple, giving her a Harry Potter esque mark.

Matilda frowned, noticing the somewhat sickening shade of blackish blue on her skin, creeping out from beneath the neck lining of her dressing gown. Matilda pulled her collar down revealing a dark purple bruise spreading from the lower half of her neck to her shoulder.

Matilda could feel a lump form in her throat. Still... nothing to worry about. Bruises fade. She shouldn't have played so close to the stairs.

JWJWJW

Matilda heard the door open and shut, it's swift creaking noise made her arms go rigid.

The Doctor entered in a cable crew neck sweater and dark almost black jeans, his pepper salted hair was closely cropped. He had a face like some guy that'd seen much pain, and suffered much loss.

"Hello." Greeting the two, he had the posture of a soldier but after shaking hands with Cartia he visibly relaxed. "What's your name?" His voice came out like he'd just pulled a double shift the day prior, only functioning because he was running on six cups of tea.

Whilst he exchanged casual pleasantries Cartia, Matilda mindfully walked around him back to her seat at the practice table.

She knew how to keep a poker face, even in uncomfortable situations. As she went she observed the doctor carefully, eyes critically analysing every last detail of the pale man. Matilda bit her inner cheek. She'd found it was always best to keep her final findings to herself. Kept her out of trouble.

Dr. Watson gave a brief look at his clipboard before turning to Matilda. Already still, she felt a tight knot form in her chest, under his gaze. He knelt in front of Matilda, allowing her to see the stethoscope draped round his neck. Her first thought, strangulation hazard.

She leaned back sitting further in your seat. "Hey there, you must be Matilda." Her breathing stopped momentarily as the man extended his hand out for her to shake. "What a lovely name." He gave her a smile that just seemed so genuinely sweet. "I'm your doctor, Doctor Watson."

——————

I actually really enjoyed writing this story and it might be the one I chose to continue. I’ve seen stories where Sherlock has a child but none with John and so I’m writing this. Her name is Matilda in honour of my favourite reading character as a child. I hope she lives up to her namesake. She doesn’t have a last name as far as anyone thus far is aware hence her name being Matilda May. Her first name and second middle name. I do enjoy this story but am considering another for front runner of the year.

Chapter 1

Title: Eccedentesiast

Word count: 3, 312

Characters: John Watson and Matilda May

Warnings: bad dreams, panic attack?

Notes: Okay here's the first official chapter. I'll warn you I have a lot of "filler"/character chapters in mind before getting to the actual series episodes. Matilda needs to develop a sound relationship with John before thing get hectic. It's been two weeks since John took Matilda in as his foster child. She's still distrustful. Unsure whether it’s actually worth it to build a relationship with her foster father.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from BBC Sherlock (2010) only Matilda and other oc's.

Rated M - for Treachery.

———————

Eyes a hickory as rich as the earth's soil blew open constricting in the illuminated void.

Matilda stood on a pristine reflective surface, icy chills one after the other creeped up her spine. Her body stood rigid and up right as straight as a stone pillar. The space around her was pitch black save for a single indeterminate white light source that illuminated the area. It seemed she was stuck in a void, an endless expanse of nothingness for miles and miles.

Compelled by some unknown force Matilda began to move forward. Under the weight of her soles the surface rippled. Was it water? It appeared to be liquid glass. A thin cool layer that furrowed and waved with each step. She moved forward at a slow pace, one foot after the other. The silence of the inky void made her blood as cold as the murky waters of Antarctica.

In the black she could sense a seed growing in the pit of her stomach, in her core she knew the feeling. It felt as much a part of her, as the heart drumming in her chest. Under Matilda's lightly freckled exterior, beneath the anxiety, she was... It didn't matter. It doesn't matter. She chose to ignore the feeling. there was nothing that could be done about it. Not now.

Matilda didn't need to look, she kept moving forward. She knew left, right, forward, and back there was nothing. She stood alone in the black nothingness.

The darkness swirled around her petite form pricking her pale skin. A chilling draught of air bit at her nape. It blew in from the west or... perhaps the East. She couldn't be sure. Matilda cautiously turned her head to look over her shoulder. She sensed— she could feel... Matilda brought a single hand to the back of her neck.

Yep.

The hairs stood on end. She stopped dead in her tracks, making a complete 180, the water rippled beneath her.

Bam, bam, bam.

Adrenaline shot through her system. It pumps and beats like it's trying to break through her chest. Matilda's eyes grew wide with fear. Every instinct she had screamed either run fast or curl up in a defensive ball and take whatever came. Matilda usually favored, was the latter. But something told her this time it was better to run— smarter to run.

Bam, bam, bam.

She ran bare feet slapping the reflective ground. The cold air cut her throat as she inhaled deeper and faster. Matilda never was much of a runner. Her short legs betrayed her. She punched away into the darkness, haring forward. She could hear the loud pounding gaining, closing the distance between her and it.

Bam, bam, bam.

Aimlessly she sprinted forward. She recognized the sound. It poured gasoline onto the spark of fear stabbing between her ribs. Fear torched her guts, churning her stomach in tense cramps. Her lungs began to burn making Matilda's breathing shaky and labored. Her legs felt like churning cement.

Bam, bam, bam.

Matilda's feet slipped out from under her. The world rushed by in a blur and she knew the pain was coming. The world went by fast, yet slow, almost suspended. Then impact. Every muscle in her body knotted up, weighed down by the icy hands of the darkness and exhaustion.

The sound was closing in, so loud now it made her ears bleed. The wind viciously blew in from behind, howl more like a wicked cackle.

Matilda pushed herself up on all fours. She couldn't bare to stand all the way but she had to move. She couldn't allow the pursuer to catch her. She couldn't. Desperately she crawled forward.

Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam... crack.

Looking down from her place in the void, Matilda tried to steady herself trying to comprehend what was going on around her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she eyed her reflection beneath her. Hesitantly she presses a trembling hand against the cold liquid glass. The pounding ebbed into nothingness until, until silence was as absolute as space.

Matilda stared entranced by her reflection. A paralyzing hurt spread through her body like sharp, liquid metal. The face staring up at her was foreign, new. She couldn't hear her rapid breathing, ignored the fogging up of the surface from her warm breath.

A child stared up at her. Her eyes are a bold cunning brown, the color of dark chocolate, and her neat, earth after rain brown hair pushed back by a red headband. Her pale skin was a canvas for her numerous freckles, as if some one had strewn brown chips of marble about frivolously. She wore a dress that stopped above her knees — blood red.

The reflection wasn't hers.

Matilda's eyes, a weak shade of brown, were dim, the color of dying candle, and her curled dirty blonde hair slowly browning from the roots hung in matted knots. Her skin while pale was marked purple and blue in spots, her freckles were rather small and barely visible unless she purposely dotted them with markers. She too wore a dress, however it was one of a different style and the color — envy green.

Fear curled up inside her and clung to her ribs, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She began to inch back away from the inaccurate reflection.

Crack. A long thin crack followed her and her reflection, growing with each move backward. She immediately ceased her movement. It was too late the crack continued to creep across the surface, sounding like the crushing of bones. It worked and slithers branching off in different directions until it created a circle trapping Matilda in the center. Three large splits fractured the face of her reflection.

Certain the breakage was through, Matilda cautiously stood. Her legs were like jello but she managed. Looking around she saw no way out. No matter where she stepped the ground would break out from beneath her.

BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM!

She stood hand covering her ears, in the middle of the void that had become her world, a world decorated by it's own broken cracks. Her brown eyes flickered out, becoming full, glossy. Then all at once she collapsed, tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

She could call for help. What would be the point? Why ask for help when there's no one for miles, to hear you.

In her distress she didn't notice the lone pale inky hand reaching from the depths of her liquid reflection. Icy fingers gripped her ankle in the darkness. Eyes fearfully widened, a gasp escaped her lips. In a moment of pure instinct she reached out, fingers extended.

All at once the glass shattered below her. She opened her mouth to let out a desperate scream but all that came out was air. The realization flooded in, there was nothing to be done.

She went silently. The last piece of her to drown, a hand, desperately reaching out.

JWJWJW

Waking up can be a kind gift, especially when nightmares fueled by her childish insecurities plagued her somnolent mind.

Matilda woke faster than a cat dropped ice-water, eyes flung so wide each iris was a perfect orb of rich hazelnut chocolate. She felt a sharp pain, like a knife, in her chest. It weighed on her, as if she were Giles Corey facing punishment. Cold sweat coated her skin giving it a texture. With a long exhale she felt her limbs flex in shock. Everything was blurry, her head spun. Images of her horrible dream echoed in the back of her head.

She stole a glance at the clock on her end table, rhythmically ticking away the seconds. 1:37am. She blinked, closed her eyes, and blinked again. She wanted to scream, but that's not what she needed.

She sat up, dragging her feet off the bed. Wrapping her upper body in her blanket, she got off bed, dragging the too large single sized blanket behind her. She yawned, ambling down the quiet corridor.

She was only slightly surprised to find John, sitting alone in the dark family room, the dim light of his laptop softly illuminating his face. She had a feeling he'd be up. He always was, going over patient files preparing for his next work day. However he was usually in his room.

She quietly shuffled into the kitchen, careful not to disturb John. She'd be quick, no reason to bother him. She'd get what she needed and return to her room.

Better to be self-reliant.

She stood in the center of the flat's small kitchen, where a kitchen island would be if there was room. Around her shoulders her blanket, worn like a cape, trailed behind her like a wedding train. She sucked on her middle and index fingers, eyes glued on a particular cabinet.

I did this earlier, she recalled. Her eyes bounced around the room, looking for things that could help her situation. She couldn't replicate her trick from breakfast, everything had been moved over the course of the day. The step stool was missing. She needed to think of something. Matilda could hardly reach the counter top on her own. Peanut.

Focusing, Matilda drew in her lower lip. Her eyes lit up, idea after idea flooded her brain, streaming. Her eyes narrowed in deep concentration, as she flipped through her concepts as if they were pages in a toy catalogue.

No, no, no, wait... she paused. A particular idea was formulating in the back of her head. Doable, a bit chancy.

Matilda was wrong. (In more ways than one.) John wasn't up going over patient files, well not every night. In the dark room, sitting on the sofa, his typing had a relaxing sound. He'd drowned out the furious noise of the rain thunder against the window panes ages ago. The darkness in a way had become his sanctuary, a place to recharge and forget. Forget about things, people time had abandoned.

His eyes scanned his screen, and read through the typed out text.

"He hasn't got a clue! He's flummoxed! He's bamboozled!

He's stuck...”

03, August. The words awakened old memories he couldn't bring himself to forget. All memories come with a price. Good or bad. You can't go back and fix them. You can't go back and relieve them. As much as you wish you could.

"According to the flight details, he was checked on board. They found the stub of his boarding pass and napkins etc on his body. His passport has been stamped in Berlin Airport. He should have died in the plane crash. But he didn't.

He was in a car boot. In Surrey.

Obviously, I haven't got a clue but neither does..."

He clapped down the laptop. That's enough for now.

Out of complete silence arose a loud clatter, the sound metal colliding against wood. "What the hell?" John quietly muttered, silently cursing as he got up to investigate.

Following the sound he found himself in the kitchen.

Matilda was on her knees back to him rummaging through the lower shelf of one of the cabinets. A mess of pots and pans was chaotically sprawled out across the kitchen tile, the largest pile up blew the counter where Matilda was kneeling. It didn't take a high functioning sociopath to deduce what had happened.

"Matilda what are you doing?!" The little girl froze, all of her muscles went tight. "You can't be climbing on the counter, it's not safe." John took her under the armpits and set her on the ground. She did not like that. As soon as John let her go, she corrected herself. She stood straight, arms at her side ready to take whatever John doled out.

Her brain was a beehive, a buzz with thoughts. She didn't mean to make him upset. She just needed to calm her head after the bad dream. Her heart felt tight. Her breathing became more rapid, more shallow. Her hands like claws ran through her hair pushing back her hair.

"You could have seriously hurt yourself," John went on.

Thoughts accelerated in her head. Too many, too fast. She squatted, sitting criss-cross on the floor, trying to make everything slow to a pace her young brain and body could handle.

John's scolding wasn't loud; he had neighbors and thin walls. For Matilda however his voice was so harsh it rivaled gunfire. "What were you thinking?!"

He knew he'd overstepped when he looked down to see the small girl curled up in her blanket like an armadillo. She was curled up in the fetal position eyes trained forward, completely glazed over.

"Matilda? Matilda?" John softened his tone, carefully kneeling beside her. "Sweetie I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice." Matilda remained unresponsive. He'd have assumed she was dead if not for the repetitive rise and fall of her stomach from beneath the blanket.

He waited. The rain floated down the window pane in gentle waves, the pitter patter is a soft form of music. Pellets of water plink across the asphalt scattering puddles all round the city. The gusting wind blew with great force rocking the trees carrying the droplets in diagonal sheets. He sat in the darkness tenderly stroking back Matilda's browning dirty blonde hair.

John half-asleep woke to the sound of gentle lilt. From Matilda came a humming sound. Her eyes mindlessly darted around the room, never settling on a particular spot. She was chewing on some of her hair, a habit that appeared to be calming her down.

After a while Matilda went quiet, pupils fixing on the man beside sitting on the floor beside her. She pushed the hair out of her mouth. Her voice was quiet when she spoke.

"Can I have hot cocoa... Please?”

JWJWJW

Was it the best parenting decision, agreeing to let a young child have a rich mug of hot chocolate before returning to bed? Perhaps not. Did it settle the child's shot nerves, melting them like fondue. The little girl swore by the creamy beverage, claiming it was often the simplest things that brought her comfort. Hot chocolate, her comfort beverage.

Matilda sat at the overhang counter, feet dangling over the edge of her seat. She had proved not to be one of those children. You know, the ones who ask every minute "is it done yet?" She wasn't one of those kids. She held herself poised, trying to forget the previous moments events.

Matilda had thoughtlessly been twiddling her thumbs, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Why are you so a miss? You in all your faults. You're a loon, a weirdo, a mistake." There it went, her studio inner dialogue, it was never her friend. She didn't have friends. "Can't even handle a measly nightmare. Such a frea—"

"Matilda," John's voice saved her from her own thoughts. "Here you go, lovely." Matilda flashes him a smile, not a scared one but too tired to be considered a genuine smile.

He placed a mug in front of her. It was the first time he'd been able to make her hot chocolate since he'd taken her in. Despite John repeatedly telling her that his microwave was better than stovetop — and that she wasn't allowed to use the stove — she was inflexible.

Her eyes suspiciously narrowed, this was not her hot chocolate. "Thank you," she murmured, kindly accepting the mug. John chuckled softly, the child was too polite. From the slight crinkle up of her nose he could tell she was perplexed. He could see the little cogs in her brain spinning.

What's this? She cutely tilted her head inspecting, the white whip dollop stacked on top of cocoa decorated with red rectangle flecks. She hesitantly sticks out her tongue, just barely touching it against the white whip. Chills.

For a moment Matilda wraps her small hands around the ceramic mug, letting the heat warm her clammy palms. "Thank you," she repeated more sincerely this time. Leaving the mug, with some struggle she managed to get off the tall tool seat without help. She had every intention of retaking her mug — she'd finish the cocoa in the safety and security of her own room — however John picked up the mug before she had the chance.

Matilda bit her lip, nervously twisting the fabric of her pajama top. "Question for the cocoa," John bargained. Matilda's lips pressed together, turned down at the edges, and she nodded. "Why are you up?" He asked delicately.

Matilda's right eye twitched.

Understandably, Matilda was the most reserved and withdrawn child he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She was nothing like the children who so boldly so curiously sought the council of Sherlock long ago. She kept to herself. Only speaking when it seemed polite or required.

"Truth please," John requested squatting so he was eye level with the 33.4" girl.

Her self-confidence was basically dead in the water at this point. It'd been brutally grabbed from behind and held under the drink against its will. Not that herself self-confidence had much of a will.

With a shaky sigh, she submitted. "I had a bad dream.

There was always an adorable yet heartbreaking timidness to her actions and mannerisms.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John offered, kindly handing the still warm mug off to Matilda. She flinched at first, body readying itself for a scolding blow. But she relaxed as soon as she realized John was only returning the cocoa to her.

She fearing he would change his mind on a dime she swiftly took the mug, cupping it in her hands. "No. No, thank you." she politely declined taking exactly two steps back from John. Weird, he didn't seem mad about her shortcoming.

As she inched toward the corridor, eyes never leaving John, she brought the rim of the, 'Our Clinic Has An Awesome Doctor. True Story.' mug to her lips. Dark, rich and pepperminty the warm hot chocolate coated her tongue thickly before flowing down her throat.

"I'm always here for you, if you need me," John whispered, knowing he couldn't hear him already around the corner.

Matilda May. John couldn't help but care for the little girl. Not only because she was utterly adorable, but also because there was something so endearing about her in general. A bit rigid around the edges, she was sure a sweet little darling. She was broken and scared, she didn't quite trust him.

He was hopeful she'd come around, eventually. He just had to—

Matilda poked her head back from round the corner connecting the kitchen and the corridor. "Goodnight John."

John's mouth twitched, the corners of his mouth lifted up into a soft smile.

—give it time.

BBC Sherlock - Masterlist

Okay so I’m making a master list to organize the stories I write. Here you’ve arrived at the BBC Sherlock section. I hope you enjoy reading, feel free to peruse and check stuff out.

“Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius.”

The Curious Case of Matilda May

Prologue

Chapter 1

rip BBC Sherlock’s Moriarty, you would’ve loved Chappell Roan.

Imagine being able to jump from universe to universe like it's the most normal thing ever!

BBC Sherlock Playlists

I created these two playlists based around Sherlock and John. I will say that Sherlock's playlist definitely has more music than John but I am working on adding more songs to John's. I am going to work on a Johnlock playlist here in a couple hours so be on the outlook for it. But I hope you all enjoy listening to them and find immersed in the characters.

Sherlock Holmes

Doctor John Watson

I need more fanfics where Sherlock somehow stumbles across Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Hannibal Lecter, or Will Graham.

I need Sherlock to stumble through his deductions only to realize that those guys are DANGEROUS (or the alternative, he gets the deductions hilariously wrong)

finally watched 3 seasons of sherlock and. i really want to d

YOU CAN BOOP PEOPLE?? YOO

Ok fr would Sherlock boop Watson or would Watson boop Sherlock 🤔🤔

Let me just

Holy moly wait

So tomorrow is Tuesday

And today is April Fools

Which means

April Fools might be in the new episode :))

Oh yeah and easter too

based on that one joke apparently a lot of people have read

I've been... Very hard at work. Take all my sketches my little goobers.